


Onshore Flow

by baethoven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, The California Beach AU Literally Nobody Asked For
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baethoven/pseuds/baethoven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out near the ocean, in a dingy apartment misleadingly called <i>Playa Vista</i> whose only view is some railroad tracks, Luke moves in with his sister Leia and meets the charming upstairs neighbor whose legitimate port job seems a little seedy. It's easy to ignore, though, when he's winking at Luke and calling him kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Onshore Flow

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get the idea out of my head of Luke and Han, in the California ocean near the sunshine. The inspiration was a mix of enjoying the recent good weather in Los Angeles, rereading the _Inherent Vice_ for the zillionth time, and wondering if there was a way to express the beach culture out here in SoCal.

Summer rolled in early that year, on a quiet morning late in April. Most days, Luke awoke to the dreary grey of marine layer, persistent until the sun was high enough in the sky to melt the fog away. He had fallen asleep swaddled in thick layers of sheets and comforters, buried beneath in a pocket of warmth. The beach was always colder than the mainland, with the onshore flow ghosting over the coast at night and chasing away the dying heat of the previous day, and Luke, being the fragile _desert flower_ , as his sister had so charmingly named him one night upon finding him hoarding her quilts, had not yet got the hang of it. So it was an unpleasant surprise to wake up the next morning covered in a sheen of sweat and knotted in one thin sheet with the rest of the blankets kicked off onto the floor. The sun, finally free from the fog and eager to make up for lost time, beat aggressively against his wall and shined unkindly through the missing slats of the cheap blinds. Luke opened his eyes and glared at the popcorn stucco of his ceiling, before grappling for his phone and looking at the time. _10:00 AM,_ it said. Luke grumbled and rolled to his side, uncomfortable and hot, and exhausted from being woken so _early_.

He closed his eyes, determined to fall back asleep, but the sun was persistent, and Luke was too uncomfortable in the heat of his room to properly drift back off. He rolled over and pressed his face against the dry wall, baking in the sun's attention and seeping warmth, and woke up in gradual ebbs of sensory. The soft cotton of his sheets, the matted down of his pillow, feathers bunched in awkward lumps from a night of tossing and turning, the sounds of quiet industry wafting from the kitchen, wiry melodies from a laptop mixing with the sound of a wooden spoon clacking against the insides of a cheap metal pot, the upstairs neighbor shuffling in from another late night shift, dragging his feet and dropping a loud _something_ heavily against the ground as he shuffled into his own kitchen, probably to stir his own wooden spoon against a big pot before collapsing onto the carpeted floor like he did every morning, right above Luke, and behind it all _,_ the usual soundscape of the ocean and trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds that were blowing through the south land, hot and dry.

Luke's stomach cut through it all, gurgling demands at him to get out of bed and steal whatever Leia was whipping up.

He stumbled out of his room and down the hall to the kitchen, where Leia was in shorts and a black tank top, the strings of a bikini popping out at the nape of her neck. She was stirring something that was redolent with cayenne and paprika, the dark and spicy smell of it reminding Luke of the mesquite trees from back home.

"You're up early," she said as a greeting, "What roused you before one o'clock?"

Luke collapsed into one of their mismatched table chairs and yawned, a little wider and louder than strictly necessary. "Oh, you know, the sun."

Leia looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, disapproving and delighted, and said, "How inconsiderate."

"I agree," Luke said around another yawn. He propped his elbows against the cheap floral table cloth they had snagged at a lawn sale, and asked, "What're you cooking there?"

"Chili," she said, punctuated with another stir. "Tonight I have a Community Action meeting, and we're holding a pot luck afterwards."

Leia Organa, ever the faithful servant of the people and resident Thorn-In-The-Side of sneaky City Council members dead set on turning their sleepy beach city into Santa Monica 2.0. When she was not working at their local Congressman's office, she was organizing political groups and volunteering. With the rate she was going, she would probably be a senator by the time she was 30.

"Hmm, well leave me some, will you?" Luke asked. Leia shot him another look, this one a little irritated.

"This chili is for active participants in the city," she chided. "Not for loafers who sleep until one in the afternoon."

"Aw, come on Leia," Luke whined, "you know I work late. That's the only reason I ever sleep in."

"Working until eleven hardly justifies sleeping twelve hours," she insisted. "But fine, I'll leave you a bowl." Leia looked up at the wall to their tacky surfboard clock, and scowled. "If you watch the chili and stir it for me for the next few hours, I'll even leave you two bowls."

"How long does it need to simmer?"

"It's been on the burner for an hour, needs another two." Leia gave one last turn of her spoon to the pot, before she pulled it out and haphazardly laid it on the counter, splattering brown dots of chili all over. "I have to go meet with the Mayo in half an hour."

Luke hummed and watched his sister flit about the kitchen, brushing scraps of onion and garlic skins off a cutting board into a tiny green trash bin, wiping down spots of chili and the powdery remains of brightly colored spices that had been blown about by the cool ocean air breezing through the back screen of the door that led to their tiny balcony. He could not help but admire his sister as she plugged the sink and ran hot water; she was an impressive balancing act, somehow walking a thin line while maintaining her work, her political ambitions, and the deep-set care she seemed to hold for all those around her.

"You've still got your bikini on," Luke pointed out.

Leia touched the bright orange strings at the back of her neck, and shrugged. "You know the Mayor. I'm sure I'll be walking into his office to find him still in board shorts from his morning surf."

"And he doesn't mind a pretty lady in a bikini, I'm sure," Luke said helpfully.

"Ha ha," Leaia said, completely unenthused. "Finish these dishes for me too, and I might forget you said that."

"Yeah, ok. When you see the Mayor, ask for a pardon on that parking ticket I got last week, can you?" Luke asked.

Leia stopped in front of the door, toeing on sandals as she reached down for the satchel she always flung at the foot of the entry way when she came home. "Stop parking in illegal places, Luke."

Satchel securely thrown over her shoulders, she pointed an accusing finger at Luke. "If you fall back asleep and the apartment burns down, or worse, my _chili_ burns, I will kill you."

Well, Leia was kind and caring _most_ of the time.

Luke waved a hand at her, brushing her and the threat away and out the door. He sat for a while at the table, just listening to the trees rustle around outside and the upstairs neighbor slowly trudge about, before his stomach groaned at him, gurgling angrily and reminding him why he was out of bed in the first place. Chili was out of the question, so he sifted through their fridge, covered in tacky souvenir magnets and little white rectangles with words, arranged in strange sentences ( _he blows up big red spandex_ said one unintelligible strand.)  He fished out a package of hot dogs veering near their Use By date, and nuked one in the microwave while he did some idle fridge compositions ( _she is a bright blue apple_ was what he settled on by the time the timer went off). Luke could not find any buns left over, so he stole some of Leia's Whole Grain, Organic, Fair Trade, Morally Absolved bread and smeared a good helping of mustard all over it before wrapping the piping hot, rubbery dog in it.

His gourmet meal needed one final seasoning. Luke gave the chili a few stirs before he reached into the cabinet above the stove and grabbed an old jar that used to be a container for premade spaghetti sauce; in it was his and Leia's humble stash of buds, along with some rolling papers and a dinky grinder. With deft, nimble fingers that belied an embarrassing proficiency for the task, Luke rolled a joint and then grabbed a lighter off the kitchen table. Along with the joint and sad excuse for a hot dog , Luke walked out onto the small porch, and sat in one of their flimsy plastic chairs.

Luke had never really been a smoker before he moved out to California and into Leia's apartment. The small town he'd grown up in had been very conservative; his aunt and uncle more so. Then he moved out to the South Bay, and the colorful array of people broadened his horizons. There were the burnt out hippies from Hemet who had taken the pilgrimage out to the Coast, desperate to escape the IE and balance out their chakras by the ocean, the star struck singers who crooned in the local coffee shops, hoping to catch some wayward producer's eye, the surfers who were gone at dawn and only came in from the surf to devour whole pizzas and talk up the massive swells they had managed to capture, the fast paced inland kids who worked in high-rises Downtown and wasted away on the 110 until late in the night, only because their dingy town had cheaper rent than something closer to work, the young harbor workers who cursed like sailors but were kind and tenacious in a way Luke had never encountered. All these people floated down the streets and through the misty marine layer under the sodium lights, up to _Playa Vista_ and through Luke and Leia's front door. Leia seemed to know everyone, and they would drift into their apartment, with offerings of beers and tacos, in exchange for company and a place to light up. It had been inevitable, really, that Luke would pick up the habit.

Luke lit up and watched the tendrils of smoke twist up in the sunshine, before he inhaled. He sat for a while, enjoying the slight burn in his lungs, the way it radiated out to his nerves and relaxed his muscles, melting him in the sunshine. He eyed the scarlet bougainvillea that grew and twisted itself around the wooden lattice on their porch, fluttering and shimmering in the morning light, fraying in his vision.

"Hey!" and angry voice boomed above him, "What'd you think you're doing down there?"

Confused, Luke lolled his head and gazed upwards at the porch above his. Learning over the railing was a tuft of wild brown hair and an irritated scowl, slightly obscured by day old stubble.

Luke looked back down to himself, and an pointed the hand with the joint wedged between two fingers towards the plate sitting on the other plastic chair. "I'm eating breakfast."

"I didn't mean that," the man said, rolling his eyes, "I meant what do you think you're doing, smoking pot in the light of day?"

"Oh, well, when is a better time to do it?" Luke asked, suddenly miffed.

"Oh Christ kid, I don't care when you do it, I just think you need to be a little more discreet about it."

 _Playa Vistsa_ was an old three story complex from the 60's that sat on the back of a dead end road. Luke's apartment was  on the first floor, which was obscured by huge bushes. On the other side, were railroad tracks that led into the port.

"There's not exactly a lot of foot traffic walking by," Luke countered. "Besides, I think you yelling down at me brings a lot more attention."

The man _hrumphed_ , or something close to it and shook his head.

"What are you having?" he snapped.

Luke looked back at the sad hot dog, laying dismally on the unfolded bread, surely gone cold. "Nothing good," Luke said.

The man glared between Luke, the joint, and the hot dog, before sighing in great disappointment and saying, "Hold on, I'm coming down."

And then he was gone and stomping back into the apartment, throwing the sliding door close behind him. Luke waited for him, taking another drag and holding it in as long as he could, just like the kids from San Jacinto had taught him the first time he had ever smoked. He forgot for a moment the encounter, sinking back into the low thrum of THC in his blood, and returned his focus back to the pretty flowers on his porch, noting the way they hid the sharp thorns behind the bright colors, until a loud knock came from inside. He ditched the joint on their yellow ash tray and shuffled back inside.

When he peered out the port hole, his upstairs neighbor stood, distorted by the fish-eye and holding a bright pink box.

"What do you got there?" Luke asked as he opened the door.

"A better breakfast than what you were having out there," the man said back.

He was taller than Luke by virtue of a few inches, with oak colored hair that complimented the grizzled expression he wore on his face. A nice long nose cut down the center of his face, striking right above two lips that seemed mischievously inclined despite the scowl. Strong jaw, strong chin, everything about his face bespoke strength in a way Luke's never seemed to. He wore a pale yellow shirt over frayed and discolored blue jeans, an old leather jacket that smelt faintly of machinery and oil thrown over his wide, sweeping shoulders.

"Are you gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me?" he asked, and Luke could not miss the gleam in his eyes.

"Yeah, sorry, come on in," he said, moving aside slowly to let the man in.

Luke and Leia's apartment was an odd mix of old finds from different eras. A friend had once called it _antique chic_. Their neighbor scanned the room, noting the scuffed up love seat and fainting couch they had found packed in the back of a second hand store, bean bags, vintage California produce box labels Leia had framed up as an attempt at art, a rickety liquor cart brimming with bottles of liquor and two buck chuck, the old wood table in the kitchen and of course, the ugly surfboard clock.

"Nice digs," the man said dryly.

"Uh, thanks. Can I offer you drink?" Luke asked, floundering in his high and unsure of how to proceed.

"Nah, no worries, lets go sit in the back so you can finish your morning roach."

They trudged out back, and Luke set aside his plate on the porch floor so his neighbor could sit beside him.

"So, what's for breakfast?" Luke asked.

The man opened up the pink box, revealing a rainbow of donuts.

"Oh man," Luke said, dopers appetite finally settling and ripping through him. "You're, like, a God send. Why do you have those?"

The man smiled at him, mouth twisting up high to the left and revealing gleaming white teeth. "I was on my way back from work this morning, stopped into the donut place on 5th since it was en route."

"Those are Mr. Chows Donuts?" Luke practically squealed with delight.

"The very ones, yes," the man nodded proudly. "Go ahead and dig in, kid."

Luke, missing his usual decorum and manners, dug into the box messily and fished out a blueberry cake donut. The man took out a maple log for himself and took an obscenely big bite out of one end.

"So why are you still awake anyways?" Luke asked his neighbor after a bite of his own.

"What'dya mean?" he replied around a mouthful of donut.

"You work nights, don’t you?"

"Yeah I do," the man nodded.

"So, what are you still doing up then. Seems kind of late for you, right?"

The man rolled his head from side to side, as if working out some kinks in his neck, before shrugging. "Couldn't sleep, really. Tough night on the job, but I was too wired up to sleep, and the sun was way too bright this morning to manage some shut eye."

Luke nodded along, taking another bite and finishing his donut.

"I was sitting on the porch, just trying to soak up the rays and hoping it might warm me up enough that I'd crash, and then I smelled your weed, and, well," and his neighbor glided a hand towards Luke, elegantly outstretched, "here we are."

"Lucky for me, because this is way better than what I was about to eat."

"Yeah, that looked pretty sorry," the man said back. "But something smelled good in there. Why aren't you eating whatever's on the stove?"

Luke reached a hand in the box and grabbed another donut, this one covered in crumbs of cinnamon sugar. "That's my sister's chili. Under pain of death, I am not allowed to eat it until it's done."

The man chuckled, a rumbly kind of laugh that warmed the tips of Luke's ears and coaxed a snort out of himself. "Wow, she's a bossy one, I take it?"

"You've no idea."

The conversation wound along and then dwindled down to a comfortable silence, both of them staring off into the bright blue day and chewing their doughy treats in silence. Luke picked up the joint, burnt now almost to the tip, and took a hit before his manners kicked in and got the better of him.

 "Would you like some?" Luke offered, voice vague as he stretched out the joint in the man's direction. He waved a large hand in turn.

"I better not," he said simply, "I work at the port, and they test us every now and then."

"Ah, gotcha," Luke said. He snuffed out the smoke out of politeness, paranoid of getting the man in trouble.

"Well, now that I'm sufficiently stuffed, I think the exhaustion is kickin' in," the man said after another bout of silence, rising from the chair and stretching his long arms up towards the sky like one of the Joshua Trees Luke had seen through his trek into California. Luke joined him, his knees feeling weak and his own exhaustion suddenly creeping on him, and let him back inside. He opened the door, and the man stepped out. They lingered there in the door way, Luke with his hand on the door and the man leaning one jut hip against the frame, and both waited on the other to say something.

"Well, I'll catch you some other time then?" the man said, face crinkling into a tired smile.

"Sure thing. You know where to find me," Luke said, the word tumbling out of him awkwardly.

The man nodded, just a cool, slight tip of the head that left something buzzing in Luke that was not the weed, and pivoted to walk down the hall. Before he could stop himself, Luke leaned out the door way, and called out, "I didn't catch your name!"

He turned around, spinning on a heel, body half turned back, and said, "I'm Han."

"Hey Han, I'm Luke," he returned, suddenly shy.

"Nice to meet you," Han said back, winking so slyly that Luke thought he imagined it, and then walked away and down the hall.


End file.
